


Gluttony

by Ely_Baby



Series: The Seven Deadly Sins [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash February, Infidelity, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6021346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ely_Baby/pseuds/Ely_Baby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Second Wizarding War damaged people more deeply than they'd like to believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gluttony

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Femslash February 2016 and part of my Seven Deadly Sins series. 
> 
> Beta read by [JosephineStone](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JosephineStone/pseuds/JosephineStone) and [LittlexMissxVicious](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/7166919/).

***

_Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,  
Or gluttoning on all, or all away._

Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXV

***

Hermione’s sock-clad feet stepped silently on the cold stairs of Gryffindor Tower.

Not a sound could be heard coming from the Common Room, but the warm light that trembled at the bottom of the stairs let her know that not all students were in their beds at this ungodly hour.

She squeezed herself in her nightgown and climbed down the last few steps that led into the room. She stifled a yawn and scratched her head, her fingers snagging in her curls for a moment as she circumnavigated the sofa to go and sit in the armchair.

Stretching her arms over her head, she tucked her legs under her before finally looking at the people lying on the couch. She smiled at them.

Dean Thomas’ hand in Luna Lovegood’s hair was one of the most striking and beautiful contrasts Hermione had ever seen. The young man’s dark skin made Luna’s silvery locks shine in the warm light of the fire, and her skin seemed even paler in comparison.

“That’s not very gentlemanly.”

Dean’s nose disappeared into Luna’s hair as he stirred and took a quiet breath. “We only sleep together.”

Hermione chuckled softly.

“Not in _that_ sense,” he added, his dark eyes finally opening as he tried to put Hermione into focus. “God, you’re worse than Romilda.”

“If you wanted to offend me first thing in the morning, you might be pleased to know that you succeeded, Mr Thomas,” snorted Hermione. “And that’s not what I meant, anyway.”

Luna stirred slightly, her arms tightening around Dean’s torso.

“Shouldn’t you be the one who walks all the way to Ravenclaw Tower, instead of having Luna coming here?” she asked, drawing out her wand to conjure a cup of tea out of thin air.

Dean rolled his eyes only half-heartedly. “It’s the twentieth century, Hermione. If you try to be chivalrous, girls usually think that you consider them unable to do something,” he said calmly. “And we take turns: last night I went to her Common Room.”

Hermione brought the warm cup to her lips and nodded. “And does it work?” she asked softly. “Does it keep the nightmares at bay?”

Dean looked at her from over Luna’s temple. “Does it work for you when you sleep with Ginny?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed, leaning his head back down on the cushion.

For a moment, a comfortable silence settled around them. The dying fire crackled gently in the fireplace, and Dean’s eyes closed once more as Hermione nursed her cup of tea. Luna’s breathing lulled them into a sense of peace and Hermione even allowed a soft smile to curve her lips as she closed her eyes and listened.

She wondered if Luna had come early in the evening and had stayed there all night, falling asleep on Dean’s arm, like they’d probably done many times in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor to keep each other warm and safe. They didn’t need the other to keep warm now, but, even if there was no real danger waiting for them at Hogwarts anymore, they still needed one other to keep them anchored to a sense of reality and safety that, otherwise, would have left room for nightmares and dark memories.

Suddenly, there was a loud clatter and a whine coming from the fireplace, and when Hermione’s eyes snapped open she was unsurprised to find Winky busying herself with the wood.

“Miss ate everything again,” the elf was grumbling. “How is Winky going to do with breakfasts? Winky needs to get everything ready for seven o’clock. Always late, always late… Where are the elves when I needs them?”

Hermione sunk in the armchair, following the little creature with her eyes as Winky revived the fire and cleaned the hearth from the ash and extinguished coals.

“What on earth is she talking about?” murmured Hermione once the elf disappeared with a faint pop.

“Nothing that usually makes sense.” Dean rubbed his feet together. “But I don’t actually listen to her that carefully, to be honest…”

Hermione smiled amused and brought the mug to her lips. Poor Winky! She had fought bravely in the Battle of Hogwarts, but, between her Butterbeer addiction and the trauma of fighting against the Death Eaters, she was probably not her own self lately. Not that Hermione could ever recall a time when the house-elf had been her own self, really.

“Ginny,” warned Dean in a murmur, snapping Hermione out of her musings. She had just the time to raise the mug over the other girl’s head as Ginny clutched her in a tight embrace. The redhead, her hair tousled with sleep and her pyjamas wrinkled from all the tossing and turning she had done in bed, whinged softly as she laid her head on Hermione’s chest and perched herself precariously in the little room left between the brunette and the armrest. Hermione shifted away slightly, making some room for Ginny and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Is she sleeping? Does she sleepwalk down here?” asked Dean, his voice finally unclogged by sleep as he looked amusedly at the two girls.

“No, I don’t. Dork,” muttered Ginny against Hermione’s breast.

Hermione smiled softly as she turned her head and planted a kiss on Ginny’s forehead. The younger witch hummed in delight, before hugging her tightly and then slipping slowly into a peaceful slumber.

“Does she scream a lot?” whispered Dean, when her breathing became slow and even.

Hermione brushed some crimson locks from Ginny’s face and looked down at her freckle-sprinkled nose, sighing, “Only all the time.”

***

Quidditch wasn’t Hermione’s favourite game. It was no mystery that she had endured every single game since her First Year only because Harry had played in the team. And then because of Ron.

So, it was no mystery that now she endured it for Ginny. The newly appointed Gryffindor Captain told her that the Carrows had prohibited the game during their reign of terror. Ginny had confessed that she used to fly in the dead of the night when nobody could see her, just to feel the cold air on her face and the thrill in her guts.

Ginny loved Quidditch.

She probably loved it more than Ron had ever loved it. She definitely loved it more than Harry did - to Harry, the game was a way of evading from his childhood, another exciting thing that the Wizarding World was able to offer to him.

To Ginny, Quidditch was all her life. She spent hours flying, training until the skin peeled from her hands and her muscles were so sore she couldn’t sit without a Cushioning Charm. She never bossed people around but screamed herself raw with orders and suggestions. Her team adored her, some of them who had been playing with Harry as well, said that she was a far better captain than the Boy Who Lived had ever been.

Ginny smiled indulgently at that, but she never commented, nor did she tell Harry when he came to see her play.

Hermione huffed out a cloud of misty breath and huddled herself up in her scarf. Gryffindor was winning 150 to 90, but the game looked far from close to a conclusion since the Snitch seemed particularly elusive that afternoon.

“Cold, isn’t it?” asked Luna dreamily. Her enchanted Lion was particularly static that day. Hermione suspected that she had forgotten to revive the charm but didn’t really think it necessary to point that out to her.

“Freezing,” Hermione agreed, rubbing her gloved hands together. “They’re going to catch something up there.” She nodded slowly towards Ginny. “All sweaty in this cold and wearing only their Quidditch uniforms.”

Luna nodded. Hermione didn’t turn to look at her, but the Lion wobbled dangerously on her head. “I don’t particularly like when that happens,” Luna replied. “Dean becomes all sneezy and he keeps me up all night,” she stated that without malice as if it was a mere fact of life.

“Ginny, too,” murmured Hermione.

“Ginny sleeps,” said Luna, inconsequentially. “A lot. She likes to sleep, doesn’t she?”

Hermione hummed in reply. Ginny did like to sleep. She couldn’t remember the redhead sleeping that much in the past, but probably it was because they had never shared a dorm before. Hermione had spent many a summer at the Burrow and if there was someone who overslept it was definitely not Ginny. Ron and Harry were the ones who always stayed in bed until Molly had to call them down for breakfast, but Ginny was often up at the crack of dawn.

“I didn’t know she liked to sleep that much,” continued Luna. “Last year she never slept.”

“Didn’t she?” asked Hermione. She looked as Dean zoomed past them, the Quaffle secured under his arm.

Luna shook her head, the Lion swaying slightly. “She plotted all night,” she said, “with Neville and Seamus.” Gryffindor scored again, but Hermione wasn’t really following the game anymore. “She told me that she never even slept in her dorm, spent every night with Neville. Thick as thieves they were.”

“I know,” she replied, softly.

“Ginny was the one who thought about the graffiti.” Luna’s voice was cheerful when she continued, “She said she got the idea from Voldemort, you know? She thought it was hilarious.”

Hermione finally looked at her. “The graffiti?” She had heard about so many things that Ginny, Neville, Luna and the others had done at school during the past year that it was hard to keep up with everything.

“ _Dumbledore's Army, still recruiting_.” Luna opened her hands in front of her as if to frame a gigantic title. “It was a great idea. She said it was well worth being punished by the Carrows.” Luna lowered her voice. “They made her stay in the Forbidden Forest for the whole night. Without Hagrid.”

“Alone?” Hermione glanced back at Ginny; she was gesticulating something to Ritchie Coote. Probably to send a Bludger towards another player to scare them off. The Captain looked feverish: shiny eyes and flushed cheeks as if she had to give everything she had to the game.

“Alone,” confirmed Luna. “I’ve been to the Forest alone, but not very often at night. But after all, there isn’t much to be afraid of, is there?”

Hermione glanced at Luna. “Just a few hundred things that come to mind,” she muttered under her breath.

Luna didn’t seem to have heard her. “They told her that if she ran away they would choose a random First Year and use the Cruciatus Curse on them in the Great Hall during breakfast the following morning.” Luna smiled proudly. “She didn’t run away, but she didn’t sleep all night, and the next morning she almost fell asleep in Potions. Slughorn let her doze off without reporting her, though.”

Hermione rubbed her hands together to warm them up. “But she was also given detention with Hagrid, wasn’t she?” That mustn’t have been too bad.

“Yes,” replied Luna. “When they tried to steal Godric Gryffindor’s Sword. Snape made  her serve that detention, and Ginny said that it must have been McGonagall who had suggested it in the first place, but probably it was just Snape’s idea.” She looked at Hermione and smiled. “He wasn’t too bad, was he?”

“No.” Hermione smiled back. “Or so I’m told.”

“He wasn’t nice,” said Luna. “I didn’t really like him, you know. That’s not nice to say either, but he wasn’t my favourite teacher.” Her smiled broadened. “Flitwick is. I really like his lessons. Every one of them. And I swear I’m not saying that because he is my Head of House.”

Hermione nodded slightly. “I know, Luna, I like him too.”

Luna nodded and grinned. “Do you think there’s going to pudding tonight? I quite enjoy the chocolate one they made last week.”

Hermione smiled at her and returned her attention to the game once more. Ginny was scoring again and now the score was ridiculously high. Ravenclaw could find the Snitch if they wanted, it wouldn’t have been enough to win the match.

Ginny flew around the pitch, arms raised over her head and a grin that split her face into two.

Hermione waved at her, raising a thumb to let her know that she knew she was doing great.

Ginny waved back, before letting out a cheerful laugh and flying back towards the action once more.

***

“You know that you don’t have to do this, don’t you?”

Hermione shook her head lightly. “I like to do it.”

Dean stretched his arms over his head, and yawned, before shivering slightly when his fingers passed through Professor Binns’ feet. “You’re Head Girl, you should let your minions do the patrolling.”

Hermione turned to look at him. “My _what_?” She tried hard to stop her laughter in favour of a high-pitched tone of surprise.

“Oh, come on,” Dean snickered like a child. “I bet Harry and Ron would call them that.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” she said, unconvinced. “And I like patrolling. As you said, I’m Head Girl: I can take away points, I can give detentions…”

“No, you can’t.” But he looked at her with a slightly worried furrow between his eyebrows. “And you’re just substituting for Ginny, I know that.”

Hermione raised her wand in front of her. “ _Lumos_ ,” she murmured. “Yes, great job, Dean. We’re one Prefect short and that’s why I’m sacrificing myself and patrolling.” She glanced at him and grinned. “With you. Now, that’s the actual sacrifice.”

“Come on.” Dean rolled his eyes, but he jokingly nudged Hermione with his elbow. “You know where she is.”

“What? No, no clue,” she said, and it was true.

“Come on, where does she always go after a Quidditch match?”

Hermione sighed loudly. “I don’t know. She takes a shower, eats something and crashes? I mean, she must be knackered; I don’t have the heart to ask her to patrol. It’s only once a month anyway.”

“Hey! I’m knackered, too,” pointed out Dean. “I played as well.”

“And yet you’re here, patrolling like a good Prefect. I’ll ask McGonagall to give you an award that some First Year will have to dust as a detention next time they do something wrong.” She couldn’t help chuckling at her own joke.

Dean shook his head lightly. “You spend too much time with Ron, you know?”

“I haven’t seen him since the last Hogsmeade weekend.”

“With Ginny then.”

“Well, we share a dorm, now. I’m bound to spend time with her.”

“Do you want to know where she is?” asked Dean, grabbing her arm to make her stop in her tracks. He looked down at her, he seemed suddenly rather serious, which was definitely unusual.

“I’m sure she’s sleeping in her bed,” replied Hermione, furrowing her brow.

Dean frowned slightly. “She’s probably sleeping, but most definitely not in her bed.”

“My bed?” huffed Hermione. “The sofa is probably occupied by Luna if she’s already back from patrolling.”

Dean let her arm go and nodded towards the corridor. “I’ll show you something,” he said, resuming his walking. “Peeves was really pissed about it, the other day.”

Hermione tried to keep up with Dean’s faster steps. “What are you talking about?”

He chuckled softly. “He thought someone had done some brilliant prank without telling him. He was pouting for the whole evening.”

Hermione shook her head. “You’re making no sense at all. You spend too much time with Luna, you know that, right?”

Dean stopped abruptly and, for a moment, Hermione thought she had crossed some sort of line. She probably did spend too much time with Ron and his twisted sense of humour.

It took her a few seconds to notice that her shoes were squelching in the water and that the corridor in front of her was flooded.

“What on earth…” she murmured, stepping back to dry off her shoes and cast an Impervius on her clothes.

Dean nodded towards the Prefects’ Bathroom. The water seemed to slosh under the door as if it was a waterfall, and the situation looked definitely worse than when Moaning Myrtle decided to flood the girls’ bathroom downstairs.

“McGonagall knows, and so does Madam Pomfrey,” said Dean, “but they don’t have the heart to say anything to her.” He looked at Hermione and smiled almost sadly before shrugging a shoulder and turning on his heels.

“What? Dean! What—”

“You talk to her, Hermione, she listens to you.”

She stared as Dean walked away, humming _Weasley Is Our King_ , under his breath and not even turning to give her a smile of encouragement.

Hermione rolled her eyes, huffed softly, and finally turned again towards the Prefects’ Bathroom. She pocketed her wand and made her way to the door, but it took her quite a bit of force to get it to move.

When she did, the view before her was incredible. She would have thought that someone — since the creation of Hogwarts or at least during the re-built that past summer — would have charmed the sinks and bathtubs so that they wouldn’t overflow. It  didn’t look like that, though, and Hermione made a mental note to submit the issue to Professor McGonagall.

“Ginny,” she breathed softly. “Merlin…”

The entire floor was covered with a few inches of water and soap, and Hermione’s steps were unsure on the slippery rocks. Towels and Ginny’s Quidditch uniform were floating around the room, and Hermione hurried to close the door when a shoe seemed to want to escape.

The mermaid on the stained glassed window looked outraged at the state of her bathroom, and Hermione couldn’t help thinking that she had a right to feel that way.

She took a deep breath and walked towards the bathtub. Water was flowing from over the edges, falling down to the floor with a loud roar. Ginny, lounging in a corner with her eyes firmly shut, seemed not to notice Hermione as she made her way to the faucets and turned them off.

“Ginny,” she finally said when the water stopped pouring.

The younger witch didn’t seem surprised in the least to have been interrupted in—whatever she was doing. “It’s so nice,” she whispered instead, her face barely visible amongst the foam.

“Isn’t it too much?” asked Hermione, Scouring the edge of the tub with a charm and sitting next to her. “How long have you been in here?”

“Since the Quidditch match ended.”

“That was this afternoon,” pointed out Hermione. “It’s almost ten.”

Ginny raised her arms over her head and anchored her fingers to the stones. She smiled innocently as she looked up at Hermione. “Is it?”

Hermione nodded and smiled. “I think you’re clean enough.”

Ginny’s brown eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t think so,” she murmured before pushing herself off the edge and disappearing underwater.

Hermione could only see Ginny’s slender legs and the sole of her minute feet, all wrinkled up like an old plum, as she swam away, reappearing amongst the soapy foam only when she was on the other side of the tub.

She grabbed a sponge that was floating nearby and sat on the edge, her legs dangling in the water. She started to scrub herself with fury, filling the bathroom with noises of scratched skin, until her shoulders turned the colour of fire.

“Ginny,” Hermione called to her as she stood up to walk slowly towards her. Her steps squelched in the water. “Ginny.”

“I am not clean enough,” she muttered, scrubbing herself with more force. “Not clean enough.”

“Your skin is glowing already,” pointed out Hermione as she neared her. “Hey. Hey!” She stretched a hand towards her and closed her fingers around Ginny’s wrist, stopping the furious movements. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Ginny shook her head. “I’m not clean enough,” she whispered, this time less heartily than before.

“What are you talking about?” Hermione smiled and took the sponge from Ginny's hands, and then sitting next to her, she moved Ginny’s hair away from her back and started to rub her gently. “Let me do it.”

Ginny’s shoulder blades arched slightly as she let out a soft sigh of delight. The beads of her spine stood prominently under the skin and Hermione traced them slowly with the sponge.

“You’re the cleanest Quidditch player I’ve ever seen,” whispered Hermione. “What happened? Did someone tell you that you smell? Because if they did they were probably under a Confundus Charm.” She lowered her head and kissed Ginny's shoulder gently, breathing in the subtle scent of shower gel.

Ginny turned her head a little, a small smile stretching her lips as she leant her temple against Hermione’s curls. “I missed you last year,” she whispered. “Really missed you.”

“Didn’t you miss Harry?” teased Hermione softly.

“I did,” she said. “And Ron. But don’t tell him.”

Hermione chuckled. “And I missed you, Ginny. You’d have been brilliant against the Snatchers. Or at Malfoy Manor, turning Draco’s auntie into smithereens.” She abandoned the sponge to float on the water, where the foam was thinning, and slid her hands down to Ginny’s hipbones, feeling the smooth skin and the slight fluttering of her muscles. Hermione pulled Ginny back to lean against her.

“Anything,” continued Hermione, “anything you want to talk about, I’m here, you know that, right?”

“I know,” Ginny whispered back.

“We’ve got a good solid year of not talking that we need to make up for.”

Ginny hummed in agreement.

Hermione nodded softly and kissed her temple. Then her cheek. Then her forehead. “Let’s go,” she finally said. “You must be knackered.”

“Can I sleep with you?”

Hermione smiled gently. “Always,” she assured her.

***

The password to the Headmistress office was not as evocative as those that Dumbledore used to choose when he was Headmaster. Au contraire, Professor McGonagall liked to draw from more traditional sources rather than Honeydukes’ stash of sweets.

This month, for example, she had chosen the word _Animagus_.

“Is everything alright, Miss Granger? I do hope that you’re enjoying your academic year.” Professor McGonagall poured two cups of tea and placed the teapot back on the table.

Hermione took one into her hands and smiled gently. “It is a huge improvement from last year, Headmistress,” she replied, as the milk jug poured some milk in her tea. “I can’t deny that.”

Professor McGonagall chose a chocolate biscuit from a tray and nodded. “I have no difficulties believing that,” she assured her. “It is a huge improvement from my last year as well.”

Hermione nodded. “The Carrows.”

The Headmistress chewed slowly on the biscuit, and then took a little sip of tea to wash it down. “I believe you’ve been talking with the students that had the misfortune to be here last year, Miss Granger.”

“I have.” She placed her cup on the saucer. “Sometimes their tales make the Horcrux hunt feel like a walk in the woods.” She chose a gingerbread biscuit and nibbled at it before continuing, “And I don’t even think they told me everything.”

“I imagine some of those memories might be too painful to dig up,” said Professor McGonagall kindly. “Or too recent.”

Hermione nodded. “I understand,” she replied. “And I don’t have the heart to pressure any of them into telling me.”

Professor McGonagall took another sip of tea. “Is that why you’re here, Miss Granger?” she asked gently.

“I’m worried about Ginny Weasley,” she said without being able to stop herself.

The Headmistress took a deep breath. “Miss Weasley was amongst the bravest students, last year,” she said. “So much so, that sometimes I found myself wishing that she and Mr Longbottom had not been sorted in my house.” She brought a hand to massage her temple, as if she was trying to remember. “The amount of detentions she got from those horrible people,” she went on, “and yet she would still defy them and protect the younger students with all her might.”

Hermione felt her heart swell with those words. Yes, her Ginny would do that. She wished Harry and Ron could hear them as well, and she made a mental note to tell them next time they came to Hogsmeade.

“Are you here to ask me something in particular, Miss Granger?” asked Professor McGonagall, her voice gentle.

Hermione looked at her and took a deep breath. “I’m afraid you’re not going to answer me if I do,” she replied.

Professor McGonagall smiled and her eyes wrinkled up at the corner. “I can tell you that what happened it’s not really important,” she said. “What is important is that you’re there for her when she needs you.” She stretched a hand out and patted Hermione’s fingers on the cup awkwardly. “And I’m sure that, once she’s ready, she’ll be the one to seek someone out to talk about it.” She smiled. “Maybe it’ll be you, or Mr Potter or one of her brothers.”

“I understand,” replied Hermione.

“I knew you would,” said Professor McGonagall gently. “Now, Miss Granger, how are _you_ feeling?”

“Well, Professor.” Hermione raised her eyebrows, surprised. “I’m feeling very well, thank you.”

“Good. And how are your parents?”

“They’re very well, too,” replied Hermione. “Apparently, happy to be back to rainy England. Australia was too hot for them.”

The Headmistress smiled. “And your journey with Mr Weasley to retrieve them was a pleasant one, I do hope.”

“It was,” she replied, feeling her cheeks burning slightly under the older woman’s gaze. “It was the first time Ron got on a plane, so… that was interesting.” She took the cup again and sipped a bit of tea. “He was awed by Muggle technology and spent most of the time with his nose pressed against the window.”

Professor McGonagall chuckled. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” she reminded her. “I hope you’re ready to devolve a whole room of your future home to his plug collection.”

“Professor McGonagall!” exclaimed Hermione, surprised by her boldness.

The Headmistress raised the cup in front of her mouth to hide an amused smile. “At least you’ll have no problems deciding what to give him for his birthday or Christmas.”

Hermione giggled. “You’re right. Electric plugs and Chudley Cannons merchandising. I think I’m covered for the upcoming twenty years.”

She couldn’t believe it when Professor McGonagall let out something that might have sounded like a giggle as well. War definitely changed people. “Are Mr Potter and Mr Weasley coming to visit you and Miss Weasley before the holidays?”

Hermione nodded. “Next Hogsmeade weekend,” she replied. “But I suspect that they’re more looking forward to a trip to Honeydukes rather than spending time with their girlfriends.”

Professor McGonagall laughed quietly at that, then she took another sip of tea. “Say hello to them, will you, Miss Granger?”

“As always, Professor.”

***

“Ron, honestly,” huffed Hermione. She wished she could roll her eyes louder so to make her point come across even more pointedly. “Stop staring at those stairs.”

Ron didn’t stop staring at all. “My sister is upstairs with her boyfriend, how can I stop staring at those stairs?”

“Your girlfriend is sitting here next to you, that’s how you can stop staring at those stairs.” She folded her arms across her chest and pouted. She actually found Ron’s protectiveness of his little sister utterly adorable, if she had to be honest, but she would have never said that to him. That would probably have made Ginny’s life – or, at least, the rare moments she spent with Harry – even more difficult.

Ron didn’t even look at her, his fingers tapped the Butterbeer nervously and his eyes stared at the stairs that led to the first floor of the Three Broomsticks.

“You want to know the truth?” Hermione unfolded her arms to brush her fingertips against his hand. “They are just talking. I’m sure about that.” She wasn’t, but Ginny told her everything those days, and she never mentioned doing anything more than talking with Harry. She did have a lot to tell him, after all.

“Yeah, right,” Ron snorted, his fingers lacing with hers over the warm glass. “They would do that here.”

She used her free hand to cup his cheek and make him turn his head towards her. She smiled despite the fact that he tried to look at the stairs out of the corner of his eyes, rather than give her his full attention.

“Ron, look at me.”

He took a deep breath and finally did turn to look at her.

Her smile became wider. “Ginny is of age,” she said. “She and Harry can do whatever they want.”

“That’s because my mum is not here,” he mumbled.

“Exactly,” replied Hermione cheerfully. “Let them enjoy the quiet for a few hours. We’ll be home in a few weeks, and they won’t even have time to hold hands. What with all of Ginny’s nosey older brothers in one house…”

Ron’s rolled his eyes half-heartedly and finally smiled back. “They can hold hands,” he said calmly. “Charlie only faked his heart attack last time.”

Hermione shook her head and leant in to plant a kiss on Ron’s cheek. “You have the worst and best family,” she murmured, “all in one.”

He grinned as he wrapped an arm over Hermione’s shoulders and pulled her to him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.” She turned until her head was leaning against his chest. “Is everything alright in London? How’s your Auror training going?”

He finally seemed to relax. “It’s brilliant, Hermione,” he replied cheerfully. “Of course, we have to train every day from sunup to sundown, and in the evenings I don’t even have the strength to change into my pyjamas before I crash, but I think I’m developing muscles, like proper muscles… like Charlie’s.” He slipped his fingers in her hair and started playing with her locks. “Not that you’ve seen his muscles. Have you?” He looked down at her inquisitively and she had to laugh at his suspicious.

“No,” she giggled, “but now I do want to see yours.” She pushed her fingers past his jumper and shirt, until her fingers brushed against his stomach.

He grinned. “When you come home for Christmas,” he whispered. “I solemnly swear.”

She hugged him forcefully. “Looking forward to that,” she admitted. “Now, do you want to stay here all day or can we do some shopping?”

He leant his cheek on the top of her head. “Honeydukes?” he asked hopefully.

“And Tomes and Scrolls,” she said.

He seemed to put some real thought into it. “Deal,” he finally said. “Let’s go. I’ll go and knock on their—hey! I really have to tell Harry that we’re going—Hermione! He needs to know—”

“He’ll be fine,” she said as she dragged Ron towards the door with a grin over her face. “Trust me.”

And she was glad to see that he did.

***

Dean had not been lying to Hermione. He and Luna really did take turns between the two Common Rooms. She was sure about that because it was almost one in the morning and the Gryffindor Common Room was completely empty. Except for Hermione herself, naturally.

How her fellow Seventh Years could sleep peacefully in bed before a Transfiguration test - the last before their Christmas holidays - Hermione had no clue. She just simply couldn’t. So now, she was sitting on the floor, reviewing Transfiguration spells for the umpteenth time that night. Her tomes were scattered all around the coffee table in front of the fireplace, and her legs had fallen asleep a good dozen times already. She was falling asleep too, but she definitely couldn’t go to bed yet. Dean could mock her all he wanted for the amount of studying she was doing, but he wasn’t the one who needed an “O” in Transfiguration to work at the Ministry. Hermione wasn’t either, since she already had been offered a job by Kingsley months prior. But, she did like the idea of earning an “O” in one of her favourite subjects.

And all the other subjects too, to be honest.

She stretched her arms over her head and yawned loudly. “The Take Root spell is a transforming spell that transfigures the target beast into a rooted, ligneous plant from the—”

“Winky does not agree with Headmistress. Winky does not agree one bit. But Winky cannot say anything. Winky is only a poor elf. If Dobby was here, Dobby would say something. But Dobby is not here and Winky cannot say anything. Even if Winky wants to say something. Winky is not going to say anything. Winky—”

Hermione sighed aloud and turned towards the elf. “What on earth are you talking about, Winky?”

Winky let out a rather high-pitched scream as she jumped away from the cushions that she was plumping up. Her huge eyes became even more bulging as she brought a tiny brown hand over her apron, where her heart should be. “Miss Granger wants to kill Winky!” she wailed. “Winky’s heart is fluttering as fast as Pixies’ wings!”

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione impatiently, turning a little and stretching her legs. “I thought you’d seen me here.”

Winky looked at her and twitched her potato-shaped nose. “The Head Girl looks rather like an armchair with that hair of hers, Winky thinks.”

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was not going to hex Winky; she was not going to do it. Winky was a poor, distressed house-elf, and she probably didn’t know what she was saying most of the time. “Great, thank you for letting your thoughts be known,” said Hermione, opening her eyes again. “Will you tell me what about you don’t agree with the Headmistress?”

Winky’s eyes bulged once more as she jumped down from the sofa and went to Hermione. “Winky is sorry!” she sobbed. “Winky agrees with everything Headmistress says!” She grabbed the cushion she had just puffed up and started hitting herself in the head.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she grabbed Winky’s tiny wrist in her hand and made her stop. “When I work at the Ministry,” she thundered, “I’ll pass a law that will make all sorts of self-harming house-elf behaviours like this one illegal.”

Winky looked even more scared at that. “And what will Winky do when she does something wrong?” whined the elf.

Hermione grabbed the cushion from her hands and took a deep breath. “You’ll sit in a corner and think about what you did and why you shouldn’t do it again,” she replied firmly. “Now, will you please tell me what you were talking about?”

“Winky can’t,” she whinged. “Winky promised not to tell.”

Hermione placed the cushion back on the sofa. “Who did you promise not to tell?”

“Headmistress,” she replied, lowering her eyes. “And Miss Weasley.” She looked at Hermione again, scared. “Winky shouldn’t have said that!” She tried to throw herself towards the cushion again, but Hermione intercepted her.

“What about Miss Weasley?” she asked firmly, grabbing the house-elf’s shoulders.

“Winky can’t say!” wailed the elf. “Winky promised!”

Hermione stared at the distressed elf for a good few seconds; the creature was quivering in her grasp. “Okay,” she finally said. “But nothing happened to Miss Weasley, right? She’s sleeping in her bed upstairs right as we speak, am I correct?”

Winky shook her head forcefully.

“She isn’t?”

“Winky can’t say!”

Hermione pressed her lips together. “Alright, you can’t say. Can you show me, then?” she asked coaxingly.

Winky stopped her struggling in Hermione’s grasp and looked at her; her mouth was now as wide as her eyes. “Winky can show Miss Granger,” she said. “Winky is not going to say anything, but Winky can show Miss Granger!” She smiled excitedly. “Yes! And Miss Granger can tell Miss Weasley to stop! Winky can show her!”

Hermione stood up and smoothed her uniform over her legs. Once again, she wanted to ask Winky what she was talking about, but she knew it would have been an exercise of futility. “Alright we can—”

Her sentence was cut off when Winky jumped up to grab her hand and without any preamble Disapparated with Hermione in tow.

The house-elf magic was different from human magic, and Hermione felt even more unsteady than usual when her feet found the floor once more. “A little warning next time would be appreciated.” She brought a hand to her temple and shook her head a little to kill a headache before it bloomed behind her eyes. “Honestly.”

It was only when she heard a clinking of cutlery that she finally decided to put the place into focus. To her surprise, she found herself standing in the Hogwarts kitchens. And even more surprising, despite the time, some elves were busying themselves around pots and pans, as if they had a feast to prepare.

And there, seated in a corner of the big table that mirrored the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall above their heads, was Ginny.

She was still wearing her uniform, as if she had come there directly from the Great Hall; she had a pile of empty plates at her side, and more dishes were constantly placed in front of her by the house-elves.

“Ginny,” said Hermione as she walked to where her friend was. “What are you doing?”

Ginny glanced at her, but didn’t reply, her mouth full of roast beef. Her lips were covered in gravy, some had dripped down to her chin and mixed with other dips and sauces. Her fingers looked rather sticky as well, while her eyes were definitely unfocused as they lowered to stare at the food in front of her.

“Ginny,” she repeated. “How long have you been here?” She moved one of the chairs opposite to her friend and sat on it, looking gravely at her.

Ginny didn’t look up. “Since after dinner,” she replied, swallowing a barely chewed piece of meat like Ron would do. “I was peckish.”

“Peckish?” asked Hermione, eyeing the pile of empty plates. “You’ve been eating all these things since after dinner? You’re going to be sick or have an indigestion.”

To her surprise, she nodded. “I know.” She looked at Hermione and only then Hermione noticed that her friend’s eyes looked rather shiny, as if she was either already in pain or as if she was about to cry.

“Why are you eating all these things if you know you’re going to be sick, then?” The question was easy, but she knew that the answer might have been more complicated than she was ready to hear.

Ginny pushed away an empty plate and pulled a still smoking baked potato, covered in cheese and sweetcorn, towards her.

“Ginny.”

“Because I’m hungry,” she replied firmly, digging in.

“No, you’re not,” said Hermione. “You probably stopped being hungry three hours ago. This,” she gestured towards the food, “is dangerous.”

Ginny shook her head. Was it Hermione’s impression or she looked rather greenish? “You don’t understand,” she muttered, stuffing her face with the potato. “You _can’t_ understand.”

“Try me,” said Hermione kindly. “You don’t know if you don’t try.”

Ginny shook her head again, her cheeks becoming even more greenish. She stopped eating and sat upright, bringing a hand to her stomach and massaging it slowly. “You weren’t here last year,” she murmured. “You can’t understand.”

“Is this about the Carrows?” asked Hermione. “Because even if I wasn’t here, Neville has filled us in with—”

“You don’t know until you’ve lived it,” said Ginny firmly. “You can’t possibly know it.”

Hermione looked at Ginny as she brought another forkful of potato to her mouth, then she chased the sweetcorn that had rolled around and swallowed it without chewing. She considered grabbing Ginny’s wrist, but she didn’t know how she might react and the last thing she wanted at that moment was to upset her friend even more than she already was.

“I’ll tell you what happened at Malfoy Manor when—”

“I already know.” Ginny’s tone was so curt and her eyes so glaring, that Hermione blinked in surprise, the words dying in her throat.

There was a moment of silence that seemed to last for forever. The only sounds were those of the house-elves still busying themselves with more food, and of Ginny’s fork against the plate. She was playing with her sweetcorn now, though, not bringing anything to her mouth.

“Of course,” said Hermione in the end. “I’ve already told you, and that was just one afternoon. You went through it for a whole year.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ginny, unexpectedly. “I didn’t mean to—” She stopped mid-sentence, her fork fell on the plate with a loud clatter, Ginny’s eyes opened wide and she pushed herself back from the table, standing up and taking a couple of wobbly steps on her feet.

It looked like a well-rehearsed little routine. Ginny doubled over, bracing herself and scrunching up her eyes, as one of the house-elves pushed a particularly big pot at her feet. Next thing Hermione knew, the kitchen was filled with retching sounds as Ginny heaved the content of her stomach into the pot.

“Oh Ginny,” she murmured, finally standing up to hurry at her side. Hermione knelt where Ginny was now crouching, placing a warm hand on her back and massaging her gently as with the other she kept the hair from Ginny’s face. “It’s alright. It’s alright,” she murmured.

Between an impulse to vomit and another, Ginny nodded softly, tears spilling over the corners of her eyes for the effort of getting rid of the food. Minutes passed, and Hermione just whispered soothing words that she knew wouldn’t  sooth Ginny in the least, and rubbed her hand comfortingly on the redhead’s back.

It was only when the Grandfather Clock struck half past one that Ginny finally pushed herself back from the pot and sat down heavily on the floor, looking exhausted and pale.

Hermione helped her leaning back against the uneven wall, and smiled at her as she performed some cleaning spells on her face and hands. She stopped one of the passing house-elves, asking for a glass of water and hissed at them to stop cooking.

Ginny sipped from the glass with little gulps, her throat probably in pain, but she looked gratefully at Hermione from over the rim of the cup.

“Better?” she asked softly.

Ginny didn’t reply, she didn’t even nod, but she stared at Hermione for a long moment, seeming deep in thought about something.

“Aren’t you tired?” asked Hermione. “Why don’t we get back to—”

“They said that the food was poisoned,” whispered Ginny, lowering her eyes.

Hermione held her breath and stared at Ginny, suppressing the urge to coax more out of her friend.

“They were picking First Years to use in Dark Arts,” she finally went on, “and I hexed Amycus so hard, his hand was blistering for a week.”

Hermione smiled, but Ginny didn’t look up.

“I thought they would torture me, like they’d done before.” She shivered slightly. “You know, using the Cruciatus Curse or maybe making me wander around the Forbidden Forest alone.” She pressed her lips together, her face darkening. “Instead, Alecto brought me to her office. She smiled at me and said that I was free to go.” She swallowed thickly. “And I bolted for the door, I thought she had gone off the rack and was grateful I was being let off the hook. But before I could leave…”

“Yes?” breathed Hermione, unable not to press her.

Ginny took another little sip of water, before continuing, “She said that they’d poison my food.” She finally looked up at Hermione. She looked tired, as if the recollection of those moments was a draining experience. “Not all of it,” she went on in a murmur. “She said that she would choose a different dish to poison at every meal. And told me that I had to sit at my place every day and either see if I was lucky enough or just stare at the food without touching it.” She bit her bottom lip, her eyes glistening with tears. “She said that if I accepted food from anybody else, she’d poison their meal as well, without telling them.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Neville smuggled me some fruit from the kitchen, but I was too scared to even try to bite into it.”

“Oh, Ginny,” whispered Hermione.

“I was so hungry,” she confessed, “and at the same time, the idea of eating something made me delirious with fear.” She opened her eyes again and a tear escaped her eyelashes. “After a week, Neville took me to Madam Pomfrey, but I refused any potion because I thought that Alecto might consider it food. Professor McGonagall was furious. She went to talk to the Carrows, and ordered them to stop.”

“Did they?” asked Hermione.

“I don’t know,” said Ginny. “They said they would, but then they looked at me and Alecto leered and told me to go on, eat my meals. Nothing would have happened to me.” Ginny brushed away her tears. “But she always said those things, and she never listened to orders from Professor McGonagall… and I… I…”

“You thought they kept poisoning your food,” Hermione finished for her. “You thought you couldn’t eat.”

Ginny sobbed softly. “I was so hungry,” she repeated. “And I just couldn’t eat. I was too scared. ” She glanced at the table. “And now I can’t stop.” She brushed away more tears. “Back at home it was alright, but here…”

“You feel like it might happen again,” whispered Hermione. “You feel safe, but you also feel as if it might happen again, and you don’t want to go hungry ever again, is that right?”

Ginny lowered her eyes. “It was horrible,” she murmured. “It’s not just that I was hungry. I was hungry and I couldn’t eat and the food was there, and I couldn’t and wouldn’t eat it… but it was there…”

“I know,” said Hermione. She slid gently on the floor and leant her back against the wall, wrapping an arm around Ginny’s shoulders, she pulled her friend to her.

Ginny let out a sob and rested her head on Hermione’s shoulder as the older witch cradled her in her arms. And finally she was crying, a high-pitched, liberating wailing that shook her from head to toe.

Hermione placed her cheek on top of Ginny’s head and caressed her hair. “You are such a brave soul,” she whispered.

“No,” sobbed Ginny. “Alecto used to say that I’m a broken toy, and she was right.”

Hermione felt a surge of hatred for the woman that she had only glanced upon once. She hugged Ginny forcefully. “You are a hero,” she whispered in her red locks. “You are brave, and you protected the others while risking your own life.” She kissed her forehead. “And no matter how much they tortured you, they didn’t break you.”

She raised her head a little and looked at Hermione, eyes wide. “But—”

“No,” Hermione cut her off gently. “We might need time, but what we feel won’t last forever.” She smiled and pulled a lock of hair behind Ginny’s year. “And we have each other. I have you and you have me. You’re not alone.”

Ginny took a sharp breath, before leaning closer to Hermione and placing a soft kiss on her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered, and then, “Thank you,” she repeated as she kept pecking her lips.

Hermione’s surprise lasted only a second, then she smiled against Ginny’s mouth and finally kissed her back.

And it was comforting and beautiful and exactly what they both needed.

***

“You want to know why she called me a broken toy?” whispered Ginny, twirling one of Hermione’s curls around her finger.

A week had passed, and Ginny had yet to return to the kitchens. Hermione knew better than convince herself that some comforting words and kisses were all it’d take for her friend to feel better, but she was happy about that little change anyway.

“Because she was an evil, crazy person,” replied Hermione quietly. “That’s why.” She rubbed her socked feet together to warm them up on her bed and bumped her knees into Ginny’s legs. Ginny pushed herself closer to Hermione, tightening her arm around her middle as she leant her head over Hermione’s chest.

Silence followed Hermione’s reply and, for a moment, she thought that Ginny was satisfied with that.

Instead, Ginny wasn’t. “She was obsessed with me,” she whispered after a while, pausing as if she was preparing herself to confess something important. Hermione knew that she was.

“Alecto,” said Hermione, and it wasn’t a question.  

Ginny nodded against her breast. “She never bothered with detentions and punishments,” she continued, “except with me.” She took a deep breath. “I saw her Confund Amycus just to force him to agree to let her have me one afternoon.”

Hermione held her breath, waiting for her to continue.

“She made me stand in the Great Hall for a whole day and night,” she went on, her voice soft and quivering, “in a corner. She wouldn’t let me move. She wouldn’t let me sit. She wouldn’t let me…”

Hermione bit on her bottom lip.

Ginny sniffled as if to swallow a sob. “She wouldn’t let me go to the loo,” she whispered. “I tried to hold it. I swear I did, but it hurt so much in the end and I… I…”

Hermione shushed her gently as she rocked her in her arms. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “It’s alright.”

Ginny brushed away the tears almost angrily. “I smelt. I wanted to cry,” she confessed. “I felt disgusting…” She took a sharp breath. “I was lucky Professor McGonagall was the first to come to the Great Hall in the morning. She was furious; I’ve never seen her looking quite as fuming.” She tightened her arm around Hermione. “She told me to go and that she would talk to Alecto.”

“And she did.”

“Yes, she did,” agreed Ginny softly.

“But Alecto didn’t stop.”

Ginny took a deep breath. “She said that I was a slut,” she went on. “That I thought I was the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts. That I flaunted my graces with arrogance when I walked in the corridors. That I slept with all the boys in Hogwarts while my boyfriend was away. That I looked down at her because she was not as pretty as I was. But I never—”

“I know,” said Hermione in a whisper.

Ginny swallowed, Hermione could feel the movement against her breast. “She liked to take me to her office,” she continued, and Hermione had the distinct feeling that she was about to hear something that Ginny hadn’t confessed to a soul yet. “She liked to immobilise me, to use a Silencing Charm so that I couldn’t scream.” She fisted Hermione’s pyjamas in her hand. “But I would have never screamed,” she gritted through her teeth. “Not even when her nails were so long that I’d bleed for the whole day. Not even when she bit me so viciously that I’d bear the signs for a week afterwards.” She sniffled out loud. “And she taunted me. All the time. That was her favourite part. She would just mock me from the moment she pushed her hand under my skirt to when I writhed and scrunched my eyes up. She said that I wanted it. She said that I was wet for her.” Ginny propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Hermione. “It was just blood, I would never get wet for her,” she said, eyes ablaze with fury. “I didn’t want her. I didn’t want her hands on me. I didn’t want her mouth all over my skin.”

A tear traced down Ginny’s cheek and Hermione felt it fall on her breast.

“I hate her,” hissed Ginny. “I want her to be given the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Hermione felt the anger seep out of every word that Ginny was saying. She didn’t know what to say. The usual, “I understand. You’re so brave. She can’t hurt you anymore,” sounded quite trite now.

Instead, she pushed herself up to a sitting position as well, and cupped Ginny’s cheeks as she leant in slowly. “I hate her, too,” she whispered as she brought her mouth close to Ginny’s. “And I will hate anybody who will ever harm you.”

Ginny’s lips twitched with the faintest of smiles. “I love you, Hermione,” she whispered.

Hermione brushed her nose against hers. “Likewise,” she whispered back. “So much.”  

Ginny’s eyes closed slowly as she pressed her lips against the other girl. She pecked her gently, at first, dainty, chaste kisses that made Hermione’s head light and something in her stomach tighten, until Ginny’s hands moved to cup Hermione’s neck, her fingers dunking into her curls, and her kisses deepened.

Ginny’s lips were soft and they tasted of chocolate pudding; kissing her was different from kissing Ron or Viktor. She was passionate and strong, fragile and graceful, sensual and enticing. All in one.

And she was warm, so, so, so warm and alive. Her fingers were soft and small and they tickled Hermione’s neck as they brushed gently down her pulse point and over her shoulders. Ginny’s lips followed in their wake, trailing kissing and licking and sucking gently on Hermione’s overheated skin as her hands settled on her waist.

“Ginny,” breathed Hermione, her own hands threading into Ginny’s hair. “Wait.”

“I don’t want to,” mumbled Ginny against her collarbone. “I need this.”

Hermione swallowed, but managed to tilt her head back, drawing a small groan of frustration from Ginny. “Are you sure?” she asked, staring into Ginny’s eyes. “I don’t want you to do something that you might regret, just because you’re upset right now.”

To her surprise, Ginny smiled. “I’m going to be upset if you don’t let me count every single freckle you have on your body,” she whispered, leaning in once again to kiss her. “If you don’t let me make your body sing. If you don’t let me kiss you until you’re out of oxygen. If you—”

Hermione kissed her to silence before she could continue, but Ginny seemed only happy to shut up and kiss her back. Her hands moved slowly on Hermione’s waist, sliding gracefully under the hem of her pyjamas and brushing against the taut skin of her stomach.

It tickled, and Hermione giggled, but when Ginny’s hands rose slowly up her middle and towards her breasts, she softly gasped. Ginny smiled against her lips, then scooted back a little on the bed and tilted her head back. She smiled again, an impish sort of grin, now, and slid her hands over Hermione’s sides, brushing her fingers only so slightly over the sides of her breasts as she pushed her pyjamas upwards.

Hermione raised her arms over her head and looked into Ginny’s focused eyes as the shel stared entranced at all the skin that was now visible in front of her. She felt a shiver when the pyjamas was pushed over her breasts and past her shoulders, up, up, up until she could feel Ginny’s fingers on her arms and the material obscured her sight before it was finally off, gone past her cloud of curls.

Ginny smiled softly as her eyes travelled from Hermione’s chest up to her face, then she leant in once again. “You have three,” she whispered as she kissed her again. “Three freckles, right here.” She brushed her fingers between Hermione’s breasts and giggled when she let out a soft groan.

Slowly and deliberately, Ginny pushed herself against her, until Hermione was lying down once more against the soft covers of her bed. The younger witch followed her, settling down half on top of her and still kissing her.

“I want to count your freckles, too,” whispered Hermione as she ran her hands over Ginny’s side.

She giggled. “That might take a while,” she murmured. “Harry tried, but he fell asleep after he got to three hundred.”

Hermione smiled as Ginny kissed her way to her collarbone once more, and then went down, over the squishy mound of her breast, until she reached her pointy nipple.

Ginny looked up at her while she closed her mouth over the nub, sucking it gently between her lips as she brought her hand to Hermione’s other breast. She kneaded it slowly, knowing exactly where and how to touch her, tickling and massaging her, flicking her fingers over her most sensitive places.

Hermione gasped softly, her fingers threading in Ginny’s flaming locks as Ginny laved her breast with purpose. She was gentle but relentless, and Hermione could feel her nipples pebble and something in her stomach tighten under Ginny’s skilful ministrations.

Hermione closed her eyes as her hand slid over Ginny’s back; she found her freckled skin once more, and pushed her hand under her pyjamas top, making her fingers dance over the beads of Ginny’s spine, and up, towards her shoulder blades. She was smooth and warm and Hermione was dying to see all that skin bared to her.

Ginny sucked particularly hard and released her nipple with a loud pop; she grinned before kissing her way to her other breast. Her hand slid south, over Hermione’s stomach and past her navel, until her fingers brushed against the elastic of her bottoms.

“Wait,” said Hermione, her voice throaty. “I want to see you, too.”

Ginny stopped and looked up at her, she seemed to consider Hermione’s request, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to. After what felt like an eternity, she propped herself up and gave her a little grin as she grabbed her top and pushed it over her head. She threw it at the foot of the bed and Hermione had just the time to glance at her white breasts, dusted with freckles and topped with the tiniest and palest nipples she had ever seen, before Ginny was once again lying on top of her and resuming her task.

Hermione hummed in delight when Ginny’s warm mouth was once again on her, and now that she could feel every inch of Ginny’s smooth skin sliding against hers, she could sense the excitement grow in her lower abdomen.

She rolled slowly towards Ginny, stretching her hand to place it on Ginny’s rib cage and ran her fingers around the underside of her breasts, slowly and teasingly, delighting when she felt the other girl writhing gently on top of her.

Hermione brushed her fingers over Ginny’s nipple, and pinched them gently until Ginny let her breast go and raised her head.

“You’re naughty,” whispered Ginny, leaning into the touch.

“Not as naughty as you are,” grinned Hermione, her hand closing around the other’s breast and squeezing it.

Ginny bit her bottom lip as she slid her hand down over Hermione’s stomach once more. “You bet,” she whispered breathlessly as she wormed her fingers past the elastic band of her pyjamas and under her knickers. She grinned when Hermione’s eyes opened wide, and Ginny didn’t stop until she had slid her fingers between her legs and into Hermione’s copious wetness. Ginny’s eyes shone for a moment. “Eager,” she whispered.

“You bet,” breathed Hermione as Ginny found her clit with ridiculous ease and started to circle it with nimble fingers. “Oh God,” murmured Hermione, throwing her head back. “God…”

“Good, isn’t it?” whispered Ginny. She trailed gentle kisses back to her breast once more, and licked, sucked, and kissed Hermione until she was aching in both places.

“Yes,” she gasped out.

Ginny giggled around her nipple, then her fingers slid further down, teasingly slow, until she found her opening. She pushed one digit in, still so slowly, and Hermione’s muscles tightened around it. Ginny pressed her thumb against her clit and circled it again.

Hermione’s fingers dug into Ginny’s side, while her other hand clutched a bit too firmly on Ginny’s breast. Ginny didn’t complain, though, she just took a sharp breath and pushed another finger into Hermione, pumping them slowly but steadily in and out of her.

Hermione’s wetness made the movements smooth, and a lewd squelching would have been audible if the two girls hadn’t been panting. But they were panting, both of them.

Suddenly, Ginny let her nipple go, she slowly wormed a third finger inside of Hermione, and propped herself up slightly before laying down next to her and kissing her languidly. Her slow kisses were in contrast with the quickening movements of her hand. She smoothed the curls away from Hermione’s heated face and kissed her again and again, whispering things that would have made Ron blush and urging her on.

Hermione’s thigh bumped into Ginny’s arm as she bent her knees and curled her toes into the mattress. She felt the tension of the orgasm make all her muscles recoil, her lower abdomen tighten, her heart speed up, and her blood pump in her ears until all she world was just feelings and touches and Ginny.

It didn’t take her long, in fact, it took her remarkably less than it had taken with Ron. She arched her back and Ginny swallowed her cries as she came, kissing the daylight out of her, kissing her until she was gasping. Hermione’s legs closed around Ginny’s wrist, pushing her against her clit, trapping her there; her hands threaded in Ginny’s locks and, while the waves of her orgasm slowly subsided, she kissed her back.

“Good?” asked Ginny softly, tilting her head back and smiling at Hermione. She caressed her forehead and brushed away the chocolate curls from Hermione’s eyes.

“Good?” asked Hermione back, her tone slightly high-pitched. “More like great?”

Ginny grinned and kissed her once more, slowly and ravenously at the same time. Her breasts were pressing against Hermione’s shoulder and they were soft and warm.

“Now, it’s your turn,” whispered Hermione as she propped herself up on one elbow. She kept kissing Ginny and as she did she rolled over towards her, pressing her chest against her until it was Ginny the one who was lying on her back.

“I’m not really sure…” murmured Ginny, her voice suddenly shy and her eyes suddenly wide.

“What?” giggled Hermione, who was now the one trailing kisses to the other girl’s chest. “Don’t be silly. It’s only fair.”

Ginny’s hand moved to Hermione’s hair. “I don’t want to lose control,” she said fretfully. “I never had control with Alecto, I—”

“Shh,” whispered Hermione, kissing her to silence. “You’re in control. You’re always in control, okay?”

Ginny swallowed loudly, but nodded as Hermione slid down the bed.

“When it becomes too much,” she went on. “When you think you can’t take it.” She kissed her navel as she crouched at the foot of the bed. “When you want me to stop.” She hooked her fingers on the elastic band of Ginny’s pyjama bottoms. “You just tell me, and I’ll stop.” She looked at Ginny’s scared face and offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she dragged the bottoms down her legs.

“So many freckles,” whispered Hermione. “I want to kiss each and every single one of them.”

“That’ll take forever,” Ginny whispered back, and Hermione was glad to hear her tone lighter than before.

“We’ll find forever, then,” smiled Hermione as she discarded the pyjamas on the floor. “Tomorrow, at the Burrow,” she said. “Or once we’re back here. I’m sure we’ll find another night like this, when everybody is celebrating one of your victories against Slytherin.” She kissed her way to Ginny’s centre, licking and gently biting her pale skin. “And we’ll lock the door, again; nobody will disturb us.”

“You’ll never manage to kiss them all before the celebrations are over,” said Ginny, her voice coming out in short puffs now.

Hermione placed her hands on the redhead’s thighs and pushed them farther apart, settling between them. “You forget that I’m very driven in everything I do,” she reminded her. “How about I’ll remind you now?” She finally opened her mouth and engulfed Ginny’s clit between her lips, laving, sucking, and kissing it with single-minded determination.

“Oh… bloody… Merlin…” gasped Ginny as she squirmed under Hermione.

Hermione smiled against her folds and sucked harder, loving the way Ginny’s muscles tensed up under her hands. When she let her engorged nub go,  only to lower her head even more, until she could lick Ginny from her puckered hole all the way up to her clit again. She did it again and again, and Ginny’s strong legs pushed against her shoulders almost painfully now.

“Yes…” breathed Ginny. “Yes…”

Hermione scooted back a little. She brought her hand to Ginny’s opening and slowly pushed one finger inside.

“Oh God!” cried Ginny, arching her back to wind her hand in Hermione’s hair.

Hermione raised her mouth to speak. “Too much?”

Ginny had to take some short breaths before replying. “No,” she said, her voice breathless and unsure. “It’s just… Alecto…”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” said Hermione softly. “I’ve gnawed on my nails during the Transfiguration test, anyway.” She withdrew her finger and showed Ginny her short nails, then she smiled languidly and brought the finger to her lips. “You taste heavenly, Ginny.”

Ginny bit down on her bottom lip.

“Can I continue?” asked Hermione gently. “I really want to make you feel like you made me.”

The redhead witch lay down slowly once again and let her legs fall open like before. Hermione was only too happy to abide the silent request and she resumed her task straight away. She lowered her head again, exploring Ginny’s folds and pushing her tongue inside as far as it would go.

“God,” muttered Ginny. “Merlin… yes… that’s so… shit shit shit…”

When she felt Ginny’s body tremble under her touch, Hermione renewed her attacks. She sucked on her clit, breathed in her scent, pushed her finger between her walls once more, slowly and gently, and hooking it inside.

“Shit!” cried Ginny as every inch of her body went rigid.

Hermione licked her gently as she kept on gasping, not letting her come down from her orgasm, until Ginny was breathlessly pleading her to stop. “God… now it’s too much,” she giggled and gasped, pushing lightly on Hermione’s shoulder with the heel of her foot.

Hermione planted a loud kiss on her mound and finally, grinning and licking her lips, she pushed herself up, until she was lying next to Ginny once more. “You good?”

“A-freaking-mazing,” murmured Ginny as they kissed once more, just a chaste peck now, before she sighed against Hermione’s lips and then withdrew to lean her head on Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione hugged her to her chest. “I am always here when you need me, you know that, right?”

Ginny kissed her upper arm. “Likewise,” she yawned. “I’m here for you too…” The words trailed away in the air and Ginny’s breath slowed down until it was just a gentle snore.

Hermione smiled as she dragged the blankets up to cover them and closed her eyes.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter how hard the war had been on the two of them, or how deeply they had been scarred.

They would always be there for each other. That was all that mattered.

FIN


End file.
